


sky of steel

by witching



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Kissing, M/M, One Night Stands, Pegging, Pre-Canon, Showers, Trans Male Character, trans mike crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: Gerard Keay has never tried to make a habit of sleeping with fear avatars, when he comes across them in his line of work. Mike Crew has never tried to make a habit of sleeping with the people who show up at his door asking invasive questions.
Relationships: Michael "Mike" Crew/Gerard Keay
Comments: 7
Kudos: 137





	sky of steel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/gifts).



_“i like this day; i like that sky of steel; i like the_  
 _sternness and stillness of the world under this frost.”_  
― charlotte brontë, jane eyre

* * *

Gerard Keay has never tried to make a habit of sleeping with fear avatars, when he comes across them in his line of work. On first impressions, they can run the gamut from fairly normal human beings to fully monstrous eldritch beasts, but he’s learned the hard way that the human looking ones are often the most dangerous. Besides which, he’s heard enough about Michael Crew to know that he shouldn’t let himself get complacent.

Thing is, though, he’s not prepared for how cute the man is. He’s been chasing after this one Leitner for months, always hearing that name, always attached to some terrible crime, and he never imagined the infamous Michael Crew would be so soft spoken, so polite, so  _ attractive. _

Crew looks him over once, a slow gaze traveling up and down his body, analytical, clinical. "You must be Gerard Keay," he says, and his voice sounds like a breeze, and his eyes look like an overcast sky.

"Gerry." The word leaves him without his permission; he doesn't usually tell people that. He doesn't usually tell  _ monsters _ that. He swallows hard, takes a breath, doubles down on it. "I like to be called Gerry. And you're – Michael Crew, yeah?"

"Mike, please," says the man with a wry smile. "I like to be called Mike.”

“Mike,” Gerry echoes back to him in a small, wondering voice. The name feels nice in his mouth, if a bit… too small for the man standing before him. Not that he’s big – he’s tiny, actually, exceptionally short and stick thin, but his presence is vertiginous. Gerry’s not stupid, he knows that that’s how Michael Crew operates, but still the feeling is so overwhelming and so organic that he nurtures it within him.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Mike asks, affable and gentle and warm.

That’s a harder question than it should be, all things considered. It should be an immediate no, Gerry thinks, even though he’s never heard of Michael Crew poisoning anyone, it just feels like a gateway to something worse. He blinks once, twice, then shakes his head as if waking from a daze. "Er, no, I don't think so,” he says. “Thank you, though."

Mike smiles at him, waggles his eyebrows a bit. “You sure? I’ve got all kinds.”

It’s almost tempting, but there’s still a mental block, telling Gerry that he shouldn’t accept an offering from this man, that he isn’t as friendly as he seems, that he’s dangerous. Still, no reason to be rude. "No, really, I’m alright, thanks."

"Right. Let's get down to business, then,” says Mike, and then he pauses meaningfully before adding, “We both know why you're here."

"We do?" Gerry asks, his voice cracking slightly. He’s not quite sure at the moment, himself.

"Of course,” Mike tells him with a nonchalant shrug. “Everyone knows that Gerard Keay hunts Leitners. Most people know that I've found a few. Seems logical."

"Oh. Yeah, alright,” Gerry says quickly, embarrassed by his awkward fumbling. “So… you got any?"

Mike shakes his head decisively. "Nope."

Gerry just blinks at him again for a moment, furrowing his brow. "Oh. Okay."

Clasping his hands together in front of him, Mike looks up at Gerry with a mixture of curiosity and something like interest, though Gerry can’t tell what kind of interest it is. "Anything else I can help you with?" he asks, all kindness and warmth and not a trace of the clipped, cold, passive aggressive hospitality Gerry expects.

"D'you want to grab a drink with me?" he asks suddenly, unthinkingly.

"Why?" Mike raises an eyebrow at him, clearly just as surprised and confused by the question as Gerry is himself. 

He thinks about it for a moment before giving a noncommittal shrug. "You're hot,” he answers. “I don't have anything I'd rather be doing. Do you?"

Mike continues to look at him like he’s speaking Greek, but a slow smile starts to spread across his face, lighting up his pale eyes and accentuating the curve of his lips. "Not particularly, no."

"So. Pint, then?” Gerry cocks his head, narrows his eyes and studies the man. “No, something classier. You strike me as a brandy bloke."

"I do like brandy,” Mike replies easily. His smile is a bit crooked; it’s charming, but not nearly as charming as when he bites his lip and says, “I've got some, actually, if you'd prefer to stay in?"

* * *

Mike Crew has never tried to make a habit of sleeping with the people who show up at his door asking invasive questions. They're boring, they’re irritating, and they rarely show any kind of concern for the time of day or whether Mike might have better things to do. This one, though – suffice it to say, this one is pretty high on the list of things that Mike would like to do.

He’s not drunk. Gerry’s not drunk, either. They’re both pleasantly buzzed, warm and comfortable, their tongues loosening just enough to make for engaging conversation. Conversation seems to be growing less and less important, though; before they’re even through one glass of brandy, they’ve gravitated close enough to each other that Mike can smell Gerry’s conditioner, and Gerry is looking at him with an unfathomable expression in his eyes.

At some point, Mike realizes rather abruptly that he’s just – staring at Gerry, trying to read him, but Gerry’s finished a sentence and is waiting for a reply and Mike is completely oblivious to it, lost as he is in Gerry’s eyes. They’re dark and deep and mysterious in a way that he didn’t know could happen outside of romance novels. Mike blinks a few times, swallows hard.

“Pardon me,” he says after a moment, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Got my head in the clouds, as they say. Just… is it presumptuous of me to assume this is going to happen?” He gestures back and forth between their chests – far closer than they should be – to clarify what he means.

“Yeah, a bit,” Gerry answers without missing a beat, “but not incorrect. And definitely not unwelcome.”

Mike lets the corners of his lips quirk up as he flushes and averts his gaze. "Alright then," he says slowly. He's not nervous, he's not inexperienced, he's just exercising caution, given the whole… situation. How he doesn't know this man at all, really, and how they're both mired in powers far beyond their comprehension, and how he actually kind of likes him. "Did you have any specific goal in mind?"

Gerry shrugs with one shoulder, shakes his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world. "Was hoping you'd be amenable to fucking me senseless, to be honest."

"I think I can manage that," Mike says, and then he lunges forward and kisses Gerry fiercely, arms wrapped tight around his neck. They're on the sofa, and Gerry startles for a moment before putting his hands on Mike's hips.

His hands, frankly speaking, are gorgeous. He has long, slender fingers that Mike would really love to see clutching desperately at his sheets. His skin is scarily smooth, remarkably unmarked for someone in his line of work, except for the tiny little eyes tattooed on every knuckle, as well as his wrists. Mike has a feeling there are more, and he's looking forward to finding out. Gerry kisses him back like it might be the last kiss he ever gets; knowing what he does, Mike can't really blame him.

He's sweet, though, all firm swipes of the tongue and deliberate movements of his lips. Mike uses a lot of teeth to make up for it, bites and tugs until Gerry whines for him, then moves to kiss a path down to his neck. 

With a tilt of his head, Mike sees that Gerry has another eye tattoo on the soft skin right behind his ear. He kisses it before moving to the other side to see its twin, kissing that one as well. Gerry tips his head back to reveal the long line of his throat, another eye inked right in the dip at the bottom. 

"Let's take this to the bedroom," Mike mutters hotly against Gerry's skin, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Gerry gives him a short grunt of assent and stands, abruptly, his hands tightening on Mike's hips to move him as he stands. Mike plants his feet solidly on the floor and glares up at Gerry before grabbing his forearm and dragging him to the bedroom.

"On that second white shelf, there's a box. Look in there, take your pick, and take your clothes off, please," Mike requests in a businesslike manner as he begins stripping his own shirt off. 

He doesn't look up to make sure Gerry is doing what he asked, just sets to work strapping on his harness and grabbing lube from the nightstand; by the time he's done with that, Gerry's also finished. Mike gives him a long, slow look up and down his body, cataloguing his wiry muscles and his pale, clear skin and the many, many more eyes inked all over him.

Gerry is looking at him in much the same way, and Mike takes a moment to mentally take stock of how he looks, to imagine what Gerry is seeing. Gerry isn't aligned with the Eye, Mike knows that much, but he definitely knows how to use it. Mike feels – not self conscious, but just very aware of being Seen.

"You can lie down," Mike says, taking a step forward to grab the toy that Gerry's holding limply at his side. It's a good choice.

"You want me on my front or back?" Gerry asks casually.

"Whichever you prefer," Mike tells him, and watches as Gerry moves without hesitation to lay himself out on the bed, leaning back on his elbows, legs spread and knees bent. "You are a picture, do you know that?"

Gerry nods. "Yeah," he says, and then, "you're pretty nice to look at, yourself."

Mike huffs out a humble laugh, running a hand through his hair. "That's very kind," he replies as he climbs on the bed and settles between Gerry's legs. He sets the dildo aside for now, runs his fingers up the insides of Gerry's thighs just to see him shiver.

Gerry's cock is fully hard, which Mike finds very flattering. He doesn't waste much time in slicking up his fingers to work him open. "Is this alright?" he asks, his index finger rubbing lightly over Gerry's hole.

Gerry nods his head, lets out a deep breath and gives him a broad grin. "Be better when I've got something inside me."

"Cheek," Mike admonishes him quietly, but he's smiling, too.

He presses inside Gerry slowly, breaching him with a fingertip, then sinking in when he feels Gerry relax. It doesn't take long after that for Mike to add a second finger, and a third. His hands are small, but the toy Gerry chose is not particularly thick, and Gerry is desperate for it, panting and whining and fucking himself down on Mike's fingers. Mike withdraws, leaving him empty and wanton, just long enough to strap the toy in place and slick it up with lube.

When he positions the blunt head of it at Gerry's entrance, the man shudders and whines. "Come on, please," he mumbles, half incoherent, "give it to me."

Mike thrusts inside in one smooth motion, noting with a visceral satisfaction that Gerry has a white-knuckled grip on the sheets. He rolls his hips against Gerry's, the movement pressing the base of the toy against his own cock, and lets out a soft moan before pulling out and fucking back inside. 

"Fuck, that's good," Gerry whimpers when Mike hits his prostate. "God, don't stop,  _ harder." _

Mike couldn't deny him such an enthusiastic request, of course. He fucks Gerry harder, brushes a lock of hair out of his face. "You're very appealing," he tells Gerry, calm and matter-of-fact. "You look good like this – unfairly so, I think. Nobody should look so pretty when they're being fucked within an inch of their life, especially not someone with your dye job."

"Rude," Gerry protests weakly, cutting off with a moan as Mike catches him off guard with a vicious thrust.

"My apologies," Mike replies with a wicked smile. "Clearly, you've got a whole D.I.Y. punk aesthetic to maintain, and you are doing it rather well. I assume the jacket is fake?"

"Real jacket," Gerry clarifies through his gasps of pleasure, "fake leather."

Letting out a small laugh at the fact that the clarification was necessary, Mike nods his head. "Right," he says, "and I assume you didn't buy it new."

Gerry smirks at him. "Stole it used, actually."

"Of course. Ecopunk."

"Hey," Gerry says, disgruntled, "aren’t you a Sky bastard? Stop bloody Beholding me. Bet when you make me come, it feels like being thrown off a building."

Mike chuckles fondly, shaking his head in exasperation, and dips low to kiss Gerry again, hot and messy, his tongue probing Gerry's mouth. Gerry brings a hand up to toy with Mike's hair, twisting it between his fingers while Mike continues fucking him hard and fast and deep. 

Before long, Gerry is whimpering continually into Mike's mouth, squirming in an effort to get some friction against him. Mike takes pity on him, reaches down between their bodies to wrap a hand around Gerry's cock and begins stroking him in time with his thrusts.

"You gonna come?" Gerry mumbles against Mike's lips when his hips stutter slightly. "Can I do anything?"

"Mm, it's alright," Mike tells him, his voice strained. "I'm close, just – come for me, first."

It's only a moment before Gerry tumbles over the edge, bucking into Mike's hand and spilling over his fingers and both their stomachs. Mike fucks him through it, driving deep inside with powerful thrusts while Gerry clenches and twitches around the unyielding toy.

Gerry cries out from the stimulation, just this side of too much, when his orgasm is completely wrung from him. His hands clutch at Mike's shoulders, nails digging in for purchase, and Mike slams back in one last time, grinding his hips hard against Gerry's, leaning into the dull pain of his grip and the pressure of the base of the toy against his cock. 

There's a suspended moment of stillness when Mike comes, his muscles tensing up as his jaw hangs open in a silent gasp. It breaks like the first big dip on a rollercoaster, and he lets out a shuddering moan; his body sags, his arms tremble until they fall out from under him.

Gerry isn't fazed when Mike pulls out and collapses on top of him, only wraps his arms around the man and holds him securely. Mike can feel and hear Gerry’s heart beating fast, his breaths steadily evening out. 

It’s quiet, peaceful, and just a little awkward. There’s not much to be said or done at this point, not like they’re going to carry on a relationship after this, not like they’re likely ever going to see each other again, not like they would want to. These kinds of things get messy fast, and Mike has heard enough of the Keays to know that he absolutely doesn’t want to cross Gerry’s mother. 

Eventually, Gerry sighs contentedly and lets out a soft chuckle. “Hm,” he murmurs, half to himself. “Did kind of feel like falling.”

“You want a shower?” Mike asks in reply, shifting uncomfortably against Gerry’s body, both their skin sticky with sweat and come. “I could use a shower.”

“Sure, yeah.” 

Gerry waits for Mike to roll off of him, then follows him to the bathroom. The shower gets running hot quickly, steaming up the room. In the post-orgasmic haze, it takes both of them working together to get the straps of Mike’s harness undone before getting in the shower. 

They wash themselves and each other without much discussion. Gerry runs light fingertips over Mike’s scars – the Lichtenberg shape across his back and neck, the clean twin crescents on his chest. Mike counts and studies every one of Gerry’s tattoos. They check in with each other, “Alright?” and “Hand me that?” and “Thanks,” but for the most part, they’re quiet.

After the soft  dénouement of the shower, drying off and redressing, Gerry excuses himself without much ado. Mutters, “Thanks again, sorry – I guess, sorry for the bother?”

“No bother at all,” Mike tells him with a polite smile, and walks him to the door. He really feels no ill will toward the man at all, it’s not like they’re on opposite sides or anything, just… call it a friendly business acquaintance. If they run into each other again, then they run into each other again.

Still, having nothing against someone never stopped Mike from messing with them a  _ little  _ bit. Mike’s flat is on the third floor, but Gerry’s lift down moves slightly faster than it should for slightly longer than it should, and Mike sits back with a cup of tea and chuckles to himself.


End file.
